The Many Faces of Sherlock Holmes
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: What happens when Sherlock Holmes enters his sitting room at midnight to find three other versions of himself having tea with Watson? And what about when a certain evil professor joins them-among others? Not your typical crossover and/or crackfic.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, so this story…Well. You'll just have to read it. I got a bit carried away, to say the least. *hehe*  
I actually began this a very, very, very long time ago (like, right after Guy Ritchie's movie came out), but I never actually got around to finishing it until today (er…yesterday, since it's two o'clock in the morning now). It's a little friendship, a little action, and a lot nonsense.  
_Disclaimer: The original Sherlock Holmes was Arthur Conan Doyle's, and I do not own Granada's series, the thirty-nine episodes by Mill Creek Entertainment, the movie by Guy Ritchie, "Sherlock" from BBC1, "The Great Mouse Detective," or Captain Jack Sparrow (I wish). I do, however, own Rin, since it is that through some roundabout writer's way, she is, in fact, me.  
_So the challenge here for you as the readers is to see how many Holmeses and Watsons you can identify without looking at the footnotes. I did, however, stick the references here and there, in the places I thought it would be hard for you to recognize which one I was referring to. Which also leads me to say that I kept the adjectives the same for clarification….You'll understand when you read. If anyone's still confused at one part of another, feel free to ask.  
Also, the story was originally a long one-shot, but I had to break it off into four chapters, so if any of the footnotes are wrong, that's why. Just let me know. Updates will be once every day/two days. Oh, and one last thing: This story was written for my entertainment alone, so if you find you don't like it, just don't read it. I won't be offended unless you try to tell me how I should change it. Thanks!_

* * *

**The Many Faces of Sherlock Holmes**

**Chapter I**

The hall clock struck midnight as Sherlock Holmes slowly opened the door to his sitting room; the hinges squeaked, sounding much louder than was usual in the utter silence. As they did, a voice spoke from inside the room, and he was certainly surprised that it belonged to neither Watson nor Mrs. Hudson. He was also suspicious when he realized the voice - which sounded oddly entertained and amused - was directed not at himself, but at another in the room.

"That would be him, I presume."

He did not know whether to be alarmed, angered, or relieved that he _did_ recognize the young, female voice that answered.

"Yeah, that's him. Took him longer than I thought to find the evidence at the docks. Tough case, I guess."

Narrowing his eyes for good measure, he swung open the door and was preparing to direct (yet another) lecture on privacy in the girl's direction when his eyes fell upon the other person present - or rather, _six_ other people.

Seven sets of eyes watched with varying expressions as his usually composed demeanor melted into a look of mixed emotions, mainly shock and annoyance. His eyes roamed the room, taking in the fresh bullet holes in walls and slashes in the cushions and things strewn everywhere.

"What _in heaven's name_ have you done?" he demanded fiercely.

The girl stood from where she had been sitting cross-legged in the midst of the floor; this was not such an abnormal occurrence (she usually preferred the rug to the settee), yet he noted that every seat in the room was taken by the group of gentlemen who had apparently made themselves quite comfortable in his sitting room at midnight. She held her hands out defensively and addressed him in a nervously calming voice, as the aforementioned men remained wisely silent.

"I know what you're thinking, but I can honestly say I have a good reason for this."

He ignored her for a long moment, his eyes scrutinizing the faces about the room, and he had the uncomfortable revelation that each of them possessed suspiciously similar characteristics.

"Please, Miss Rin, do share your 'good reason.' It is fascinating, I'm sure," he stated at last, and the ice in his tone was enough to make the girl wince.

"Well..." she began nervously.

"Do go on. It's frightfully interesting so far."

She shot him a withering look, the timidity dropping from her features and spirit hastily taking its place. "I'll have you know, _Mister_ Holmes, that the reason they" - she gestured to the men behind her - "are here was to keep you and Doctor Watson from suffering slow and agonizing deaths at the mercy of several heartless villains."

"Is that so?" he droned in unconcealed skepticism. "Tell me, who are these villains you speak of, girl?"

"Professor James Moriarty," one of the others answered in her place, a raven-haired man who held his head high, with piercing eyes and a very distinguishable, strident, and pronounced voice. (1)

"John Henry Norton," piped up a second man, this one somewhat thinner, with a sort of easy charm mixed with the odd humour on his face. Wait...was it the dim light, or was this man lacking any color other than gray in his hair, skin, and clothes...? (2)

"Lord Henry Blackwood," interjected another, quieter voice, this one's physical appearance rather poorly, with trousers and a shirt that appeared too large for his small frame, and unruly black locks the same colour as the stubble peppering his jaw. (3)

"I have never heard any of those names," declared Holmes, removing the cloth cap that had been a part of his sailor disguise.

"And the only one you ever _will _hear his Moriarty's," responded Rin informingly, "but that won't be until years from now, after Watson is married."

Holmes gave no reaction to this statement; he was more than used to such things coming from the girl's mouth. "I am still waiting for a decent explanation, for all I have heard as of yet are names I do not know from faces I do not recognise."

Rin opened her mouth to begin her narrative, when suddenly the door through which he had just entered swung open, and he made a flustered sound in his throat as a broad-shouldered man unsteadily balancing a tray of mismatched teacups staggered past him to the breakfast table, where he set it down with an immense sigh of relief that tickled his blonde mustache.

**To be continued**

* * *

(1) Rest in peace, Jeremy Brett.

(2) Ronald Howard played Holmes in the '50s, and John Henry Norton was a mass-murderer who tried to kill him in _The Christmas Pudding_. Yes, he is black-and-white. It was the fifties.

(3) Amazingly talented and ruggedly handsome Robert Downey, Junior…_as if that wasn't obvious_.

* * *

_The action is coming, people—I promise._


	2. Chapter 2

_As I have done before, I ask your forgiveness for not answering the reviews you six wonderful people left me for Chapter I. If I wasn't so very stubborn at getting my way, I wouldn't even have the time to write. But summer is coming this Friday (finally!), and then I'll be back at answering my reviews. I thank you here, though, and just know that I do read and love every review. *hugs*  
Onto the next phase of this nonsense…_

* * *

**Chapter II**

"My apologies for taking so long, lady and gentlemen," Watson - the only man in the room he actually _recognised_ - said as he started to remove each cup from the tray, obviously addressing Rin and the six other men, having not yet seen Holmes. "I had the dickens of a time locating nine teacups, but I have finally got the tea prepared. I do hope you like our blend."

"I don't think there's any worry of that, Doctor," chuckled a friendly-faced, mustached, colorless gentleman who sat near the thin, equally colorless man. (4)

Watson glanced upward to acknowledge the speaker, and it was then that his eye caught sight of his friend standing near the door.

"Holmes!" he exclaimed with a broad smile. "I_ thought _I heard someone come into the house while I was down the stairs. I am glad you've returned."

"Watson," he groaned disappointedly, "what are you doing?"

"I am serving tea to our guests," he answered as if it was the most logical thing in the world to do at a quarter after midnight. "It is the least I could do, after they all saved my life and our home."

"Well, they were after us, not you," said a blond man with kind hazel eyes who sat in Watson's armchair across from the man who had first spoken, his hands held before the warm fire. (5)

"If we had allowed them to kill you as revenge on us, we would have been just as guilty of murder as they were," added a smaller, blonde, mustached man who gripped his walking stick and sat on the arm of the settee beside the unshaven one. (6)

"Still, I thank you again," Watson smiled, and handed a cup to the nearest gentleman. "Holmes and I both are in your debt."

"Okay, then," Rin clapped her hands together, nervously watching Holmes from the corner of her eye, "now that all the villains are back where they belong, where they can harass each one of you individually, I think it's time we all go back home."

"Nonsense," stated the gray-coloured Holmes lightheartedly (it was now painfully obvious that each one of these men were, indeed, various versions of himself and Watson). "We're just now getting the chance to talk, exchange stories and all." (2)

His Watson nodded with a wide grin. (4)

"It would be a pity to leave just now," agreed the Watson sitting in front of the fire, as he glanced over at his Holmes to be sure he was in agreement. (5)

The raven-haired Holmes made a rather haughty noise of accord. "I suppose it would be rather interesting and informative to know what the other of us does in various situations."

The Holmes (3) and Watson (6) on the settee looked searchingly at each other, and then the Watson smirked at his friend and addressed the room, "We've got fairly interesting stories, for certain."

"That is, if it's all right with Mister Holmes," reminded the gray-coloured Watson. (4)

Holmes gaped and looked to his own Watson discouragingly, only to have his resolve fairly melt when he realized his friend gazed at him with a pleading look far more convincing than any of the others' begging could ever be.

"Oh, very well, Watson," he grumbled.

His friend grinned outright and went over to hand tea cups to the two seated by the fire, and Holmes heard the beginnings of a long conversation involving a goose and a blue carbuncle. On the other side of the room, the uncoloured duo was striking up an interesting discussion with the underdressed Holmes and blue-eyed Watson about the King of Bohemia and a certain _woman_ of their acquaintance.

Holmes himself decided upon doing his best to ignore the unnatural group, and proceeded to his room, returning several minutes later looking quite himself again, wearing his favourite dressing gown and lighting his clay pipe. He suppressed a jolt when that little demon Rin was suddenly next to him.

"If only the rest of the Sherlockians could see this," she murmured, gazing at the various Holmeses and Watsons scattered around the room.

Holmes resisted the urge to roll his eyes, uncertain whether she was speaking mainly to him or herself.

"You know," she turned to him, "you could at least talk to them. Who knows? You might actually like one of them. They are _you_, after all."

"Those strangers are most definitely not me, young lady," he answered, eyeing the scruffy, unshaven one in particular.

"Well, Dr. Watson seems to enjoy their company."

Indeed, his Boswell was presently laughing heartily at something one of the men had said.

He sighed. "While we are on the subject, I would greatly appreciate it if you would inform me as to what exactly occurred here tonight. Why are they here, precisely?"

"To save Watson."

He removed his pipe, not trying in the least to hide the sardonic expression from his pale face.

She scowled. "You really misunderstand me at times, you know that? Here I am, putting all this energy into saving your friend's life and sparing you the grief, and probably saving yours as well…."

"Oh, all right, girl," he exhaled. "On with it, if you please."

"As I said before, the reason I brought them here was because there was a little accidental mix-up, and all _their_ worst enemies ended up here, in your 'verse." (He decided that last word did not have the same definition as his understanding of it.) "I didn't have time to get in contact with Lestrade and have him protect Baker Street, and frankly I didn't really see what good it would do, since I had to send them back to their universes, not to Scotland Yard jail cells. You were gone on an investigation, and really you wouldn't have been much help to me either, so I did the only thing that I could do: I brought all of the _real_ good guys here to fight their own enemies. Lucky I did, too, or else your doctor would be dead multiple times."

Holmes did not offer a response. It was all just too absurd.

Then, as if their sitting room was not overcrowded enough, the door suddenly burst inward, and in came two more men. One was very tall, with black hair and silver eyes much like the Holmeses of the room, while the other was shorter (and moustache-less, Holmes noted), his ash-blonde hair flecked with gray. Holmes' eyes took in their appearance, noting the strange clothes each of them wore, more markedly the blue-and-white plaid button-down and pale blue trousers of the blonde man. (7) (8)

**To be continued**

* * *

(1) Rest in peace, Jeremy Brett.

(2) Ronald Howard played Sherlock Holmes in the '50s, and John Henry Norton was a mass-murderer who tried to kill him in _The Christmas Pudding_. And yes, he is in black-and-white.

(3) Amazingly talented and ruggedly handsome Robert Downey, Junior..._as if it isn't obvious._

(1) Rest in peace, Jeremy Brett.

(2) Ronald Howard played Sherlock Holmes in the '50s, and John Henry Norton was a mass-murderer who tried to kill him in _The Christmas Pudding_. And yes, he is in black-and-white.

(3) Amazingly talented and ruggedly handsome Robert Downey, Junior..._as if it isn't obvious._

(4) H. Marion Crawford was Ronald Howard's Watson in the 1950s, and has got to be the most downright adorable Watson ever. He is also black-and-white.

(5) The handsome and excellent David Burke as Watson with Jeremy Brett's Holmes.

(6) The witty and gentlemanly Jude Law as Watson with Robert's Holmes.

(7)-(8) The insanely talented and endearing pair of Benedict Cumberbatch (7) and Martin Freeman (8) as Sherlock and John in BBC1's _Sherlock_.

* * *

_Hm. I wonder who will show up next?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again, many thanks to my wonderful reviewers. So glad everyone is enjoying this insane daydream as much as I enjoyed writing the ridiculous thing._

* * *

**Chapter III**

"Sherlock? John? What are _you_ two doing here?" exclaimed Rin, and it almost took Holmes by surprise that she had not planned this as well.

"Jim...Moriarty..." gasped the taller between pants for air "...is chasing us...What's going on?"

Cool gray eyes met several pairs of similar cool gray eyes, and then he seemed to realize the answer to his own inquiry.

"Oh," said he, standing up straight and eyeing the girl. "You've managed to pull us someplace we're not supposed to be, I gather."

"A lot of us, looks like," the shorter man spoke up, his voice oddly gentle and intimate with undertones of fortitude giving testament to his character, as his warm brown eyes glanced from face to face with unspoken amazement.

"I must have done it by accident, when I was moving all the others here," explained Rin, speaking more or less to everyone but facing Holmes, who was watching her with a look similar to a cow looking at a new gate.

"More doppelgangers, I presume?"

All turned to face the original Watson, who had joined them with an inviting smile on his handsome face.

"My name is Watson, like one of yours, I assume," he introduced himself in a kindly manner as the chatter continued behind him. "You are welcome to join us, if you would like. I have tea, but I'll need to fetch more tableware..."

"No," this curly-haired Holmes cut him off with a near-snap, and faced the girl, who was watching them warily as if knowing what he would say. "Rin, whatever it was that you did to us, you did to Moriarty as well. When we appeared in an alley not far from here, he was there too."

"With reinforcements," added John, only barely able to break in between Sherlock's words.

"One of whom nearly broke John's arm."

"I'm fine, Sherlock." John subtly rolled his eyes, but he unconsciously rubbed at his left shoulder as if it pained him.

"To the point," Sherlock addressed Rin with an intense gaze, "Jim Moriarty is two steps behind us, with a gang of fifteen unpleasant-looking men in his wake."

"All we need is another Moriarty after everything," grumbled the messy-haired Holmes' blonde companion, placing his hand on the top of his sword-cane. (6)

"And with fifteen men, you say?" the excitement was not lost in the black-and-white Holmes' boyishly handsome face.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the echoing crash of the front door being burst inward resounded throughout the house.

Every similar-yet-different face turned to face the closed sitting room door as muffled shouts and smashes came from behind it. A few seconds' total silence, then Rin started as the door was nearly torn from its hinges.

"Well, well, well," crooned a handsome man with black hair and a sickeningly mischievous smile on his young face. "If it isn't Sherlock Holmes and his little pet…_Oooh!_" He practically bounced with delight as he caught sight of the various faces. "A whole _room full_ of Sherlocks. This _is_ my lucky day."

Had the situation not become so suddenly dire, Holmes would have outwardly sighed at the fact that this "Moriarty" comprehended the absurdity of it immediately. Obviously, even the villains seemed to be familiar with Rin's rash behaviors and startling decisions. As it was, Holmes could not help but think that this pleasant-faced, cheery stranger did not seem to be worthy of the apparent panic he instilled in his newly-arrived counterpart; still, he knew as well as they that looks are nearly always deceiving, and if the stain on this newcomer's sleeve and the state of his shoes were accurate, this man was one of the brilliant ones.

"Jim Moriarty," the stranger continued, reaching his hand out toward Holmes. "It's just lovely to make your acquaintance."

His particular Sherlock Holmes narrowed his ice-colored eyes, while John's breath caught and his steady left hand clenched.

Holmes did not move to accept the handshake, only took a slight step back to stand evenly beside his other, curly-headed self. Though their cases had been so far limited in number, Holmes could feel it without glancing over when his own Watson took a position by his side.

Though none of them had heard the news of this new Sherlock Holmes, by this time all the intuitive and attentive members of their group had become aware of the danger they were seeing. The blue-eyed Watson touched the unshaven Holmes' arm (3) (6), and together they moved forward; the young Holmes without color straightened in his chair, while his Watson leaned to see the newcomers better (2) (4); the sharp-voiced Holmes and his Watson stood from their chairs attentively. (1) (5)

And Rin, Holmes observed, scooted closer to the door of the sitting room. If that little devil child believed she was to flee from this so easily, she was very mistaken...

"Oh, dear." Jim Moriarty appeared oddly saddened. "Now, now, there's no reason to look so disgruntled."

Rin let out an extremely sarcastic _"Hah!"_ which was compounded by Sherlock's dark _"Mm!"_

"I only want to talk, you see," cooed the young Moriarty. "I'd like to arrange a truce with you—with all of you, if you'd care to listen to what I have to offer you."

"Thinks quick, doesn't he," murmured the small, blonde John Watson in Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock's answer was to narrow his intense eyes at the obviously vile man.

"Whatever you have to say, I have no use for it, and I am not interested in any form of truce with you," he said with an air of finality.

"Oh, but aren't you even the slightest bit curious, Sherlock, dear?" Jim pouted. "I know you are. You always have been, and you've not disappointed me yet."

Sherlock's fingers twitched.

Holmes' sharp eyes caught movement from Rin, and without drawing attention to either himself or her, he watched her closely as she began making an odd movement with her hands. This strange signal—which consisted of her holding one finger up as if to say _wait_, then holding her flat palms few inches apart as if to indicate something small—was directed, as it seemed, toward the back of the room.

With a brief glance, Holmes saw the Watson sided with the arrogant-looking Holmes (5) nod understandingly.

Despite his well-founded aversion to the girl and the manner in which she frequently disrupted his life, Holmes found himself wondering what it was she planned to do, for it was an established fact that Rin never had any form of normal plan.

The Watson with which she had shared the gesture carefully tapped his index finger against his Holmes', and the dark-haired man seemed to understand, for he waited until the black-and-white Holmes and Watson were looking in his direction before cutting his eyes toward the pair of Moriarty's men standing closest to them.

The youthful Holmes and Watson responded by sending a similar indication toward the crude-looking pair, who, in turn, glanced to him.

He shifted his eyes as a sign that he understood their meaning, and silently prepared himself for a direct fight, already knowing which of Jim Moriarty's men the other Holmeses and Watsons had chosen to oppose.

"Imagine, Sherlock, never being bored," Moriarty said temptingly, "your wonderful brain always having data to analyze and puzzles to solve."

"And how, pray tell, would you give me that, _Jim_," responded Sherlock spitefully.

"You chose your life's work," said the villain, circling Sherlock and John carefully, "with such a false sense of nobility. And you knew that, even then, didn't you, love? You knew that you've never had any real interest in helping others, or taking away their problems. You want only for yourself, always."

"Is there a point to this? Because I would appreciate you arriving at it soon," Sherlock said.

"There is so much potential, Sherlock, in this world, for people like you and me," Jim said as if Sherlock had not spoken. "People walk around London, Tokyo, St. Petersburg—all the largest cities and smallest villages across the globe—and they are completely oblivious to the danger they could be facing every day. If you or I wished to, we could stop this planet's rotation, bring everything crashing down on top of those ordinary, boring, pathetic people. We could turn everything upside down and inside out, and nobody would ever have the intelligence to stop us. We could be invincible, you and I, constantly taking down anything we wanted—and with that, we'd never grow bored. Not even until the day we die."

He stopped and looked around the room.

"None of you would."

"Oh, I don't know," said the black-and-white Holmes good-naturedly. "That sounds as though it could get rather dull after a while."

His Watson chuckled.

"I haven't a reason to make a deal such as that," said the sharp-voiced Holmes flippantly, "not with my business having picked up as it has."

His Watson quirked a bright half-smile.

"Do you really think I never considered it, Jim?" came Sherlock's answer, gravely. "Of course I did. I know of what I am capable. I suppose that is the real difference between you and me, isn't it?"

He glanced to his John, whose eyes softened with the memory of some experience the friends had shared.

"I have a heart," he finished resolutely.

And then, a squeak erupted from somewhere, sounding suspiciously like, "Huzzah!" and Jim Moriarty suddenly howled in pain, clutching his right foot.

**To be continued**

* * *

(1) Rest in peace, Jeremy Brett.

(2) Ronald Howard played Sherlock Holmes in the '50s, and John Henry Norton was a mass-murderer who tried to kill him in _The Christmas Pudding_. And yes, he is in black-and-white.

(3) Amazingly talented and ruggedly handsome Robert Downey, Junior..._as if it isn't obvious._

(4) H. Marion Crawford was Ronald Howard's Watson in the 1950s, and has got to be the most downright adorable Watson ever. He is also black-and-white.

(5) The handsome and excellent David Burke as Watson with Jeremy Brett's Holmes.

(6) The witty and gentlemanly Jude Law as Watson with Robert's Holmes.

(7)-(8) The insanely talented and endearing pair of Benedict Cumberbatch (7) and Martin Freeman (8) as Sherlock and John in BBC1's _Sherlock_.

* * *

_Forgive me for possibly adding more to Sherlock and John's entrance than I should have. _Sherlock_ happens to be my current favorite show, and with that cliffhanger in _The Great Game_, I needed a finale of some sort. And come on, Benedict Cumberbatch deserves more than the other Holmeses…look at him! (That was mean and over-fangirlish. My apologies.)_


	4. Chapter 4

_One more enormous shout-out to every reviewer. Keep them coming, guys!  
Final chapter…. (Everybody, look sad for me.)_

* * *

**Chapter IV**

In the same instant as Jim Moriarty's unexpected outburst, each set of Holmes and Watson bolted forward. The men who had entered with Moriarty, having been sufficiently distracted with his blood-curdling shriek, had little chance of composing themselves before ten men—ten men trained, more by experience than instruction, to dismantle gangs of eight men between each pair of them—attacked without mercy.

Holmes—the _real_ Holmes, that is, according to him—hardly counted to six seconds before he and Watson had the tallest man crumpled into a heap on the carpet; though he was not one for unwarranted pride, he could not help feeling gratified with the speed with which he and Watson had learnt to predict one another's movements in a scuffle such as this. He looked around, preparing for whoever may threaten next, but was slightly bemused to see that, apparently, they were not the only represented agency which had its hand in rows. The disheveled-looking Holmes and his sword-plying Watson seemed particularly competent, for four of the men lay on the ground nearest them.

Then, suddenly, all was quiet, and Moriarty and his gang were gone.

Each Holmes and Watson looked at one another, and then at Rin.

She smirked.

"I'm the writer, remember?"

And then she snapped her fingers and a dozen llamas appeared. A black-and-white one appeared startled at seeing the black-and-white Holmes suddenly inches away from its long and furry face, as did the black-and-white Holmes. The Watson with the thick, blonde hair (5) cried out as one pulled the notebook from his back pocket. She clapped her hands and they disappeared again.

"Miss Rin, _really_," admonished Watson from Holmes' right, though he sounded partially entertained.

"Just proving a point," she replied innocently.

Holmes—all of them—glared, and the Watsons shook their heads with tolerant amusement.

"But," John took a moment to recover himself, "what distracted Moriarty?"

A grin spread across Rin's face, and she opened her mouth to answer when another, slightly smaller, and much squeakier voice declared,

"Hallo, up there, good sir!"

And all pairs of eyes looked directly at John's scuffed shoes, to where a rather superior-looking mouse in a tweed coat was tugging on his jeans.

"What the devil…!" cried out the black-and-white Watson.

"Good lord, that is quite distinctive," asserted the scruffy Holmes, as his open-mouthed Watson leant over his shoulder.

"Amazing, simply amazing!" proclaimed the black-and-white Holmes, eyes glowing with childlike wonder.

Sherlock's expression did not alter, but his piercing eyes widened with unspoken astonishment. John's mouth fell open with the shock.

Holmes sighed long-sufferingly, and he looked to his Watson, who was looking at him with an expression of entire wonderment and unspoken hilarity.

It is a notable fact that the sharp-voiced Holmes and his blonde Watson showed no surprise whatever at the sight of the pair of educated rodents. (9)

"You're the one…?" stammered the blonde Watson, as he put away his sword-cane. (6)

"Yes," replied the articulate and apparently refined creature, as his round companion—also a mouse—barely caught the long pin he tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. "Sherringford Basil, at your service. And you are?" (10)

"Sherlock Holmes," said the black-and-white Holmes.

"Sherlock Holmes," said the scruffy Holmes.

"Sherlock Holmes," said Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes," said Holmes.

"We've met previously," said the sharp-voiced Holmes.

Basil looked at each face closely, with one furry brow raised.

"You must be Watson, then," said the other mouse politely, motioning with slight puzzlement to each John Watson.

"Yes," said the sharp-voiced Holmes' Watson with a smile.

"Cute, aren't they?" volunteered Rin, leaning down and lifting each small mammal into her hands.

Holmes looked at her, then at Basil, then at each of the other Holmeses.

"I am going to my bed," he said wearily. "Good-night to you all. You will pardon my saying that I have high hopes I shan't see you in the morning."

"Good-night, Holmes," said two Watsons.

"Rest well," said his own Watson.

Most of the Holmeses waved indifferently.

"'Night, Holmes," bade Rin.

If the withering look he sent just before securely shutting his bedroom door had any effect upon her, it had worn off the very following night, when he awoke to find a dark figure who reeked strongly of cheap perfume, salty sea air, and alcohol crawling drunkenly through his bedroom window.

"Aye, mate," said the stranger, "you haven't seen a ship with black sails around, have you? Probably manned by a lad with long hair and an oddly girlish form. It might be a girl, in fact." A pause. "Have you any rum?" (11)

**The End**

* * *

(1) Rest in peace, Jeremy Brett.

(2) Ronald Howard played Sherlock Holmes in the '50s, and John Henry Norton was a mass-murderer who tried to kill him in _The Christmas Pudding_. And yes, he is in black-and-white.

(3) Amazingly talented and ruggedly handsome Robert Downey, Junior..._as if it isn't obvious._

(4) H. Marion Crawford was Ronald Howard's Watson in the 1950s, and has got to be the most downright adorable Watson ever. He is also black-and-white.

(5) The handsome and excellent David Burke as Watson with Jeremy Brett's Holmes.

(6) The witty and gentlemanly Jude Law as Watson with Robert's Holmes.

(7)-(8) The insanely talented and endearing pair of Benedict Cumberbatch (7) and Martin Freeman (8) as Sherlock and John in BBC1's _Sherlock_.

(9) Read my fic, _Tales of Random_, and the chapters _Zany Things at 221b_, if you're curious about that.

(10) As the name declares, this is Sherringford Basil, of The Great Mouse Detective. His round mouse companion is Dawson.

(11) Come on, people. Jack Sparrow is the ultimate fictional character.

* * *

_The above chapter is proof that schoolwork is bad for children's brains. And why have I stolen Jack's ship? Maybe you'll find out someday…._


End file.
